The Thanksmas Gift
by tw0lle
Summary: Little Cashmere learns the meaning of Thanksmas.


"Thanksmas is my favorite time of year!" Cashmere twirled in a wide circle, arms outstretched, watching the multicolored lights strung in the trees above her dance. She wobbled and fell backwards, and her father, Naff, put his hands on her shoulders.

"Watch it, Cash," he cautioned. She jumped away from his grasp and pirouetted in front of the family, ruffled skirt flaring. The best part of this holiday was that she was finally six years old, old enough for a Thanksmas present after so many years of listening to stories of her parents exchanging them on their own. As an added bonus, her little brother Gloss couldn't have been more jealous.

"Look how stupid she is," he muttered, gesturing towards his prancing sister. "I'm practically as old as she is. Why can't I have a gift this year?"

Their mother, Crinoline, placed a pale hand gingerly on his head. "Give Panem one more year and your gift will be that much more meaningful," she said.

"I don't want it to be meaningful," answered Gloss. "I just _want_ it."

Crinoline's fingers stroked his curls. "Every gift has to be meaningful," she explained. "The happiest people are the ones who give Panem the things they value most. In return, Panem gives them the things they want most. We must give to receive, and to give we must value what we receive."

"Well said, by the founder of District 1's most benevolent charity," said Naff, and he looked adoringly at his wife.

Gloss's brow crinkled. "I just wanted a racecar," he said.

"You have until next year to decide," Crinoline laughed. She turned to Cashmere. "And what, my daughter, have you decided?"

"I want a puppy," said Cashere, and she held her mother's gaze.

Crinoline's lips pursed into a bloodless line. "Puppies require quite a bite of care," she said.

"We have servants for that," answered Cashmere. "And I'll do my part."

"You'll be very busy, now that you've started at the academy."

"I want a puppy," said Cashmere.

Crinoline's gaze shifted. "Well, you've made your choice, then." She looked at Naff, with his wide, white grin. "Let's have some hot chocolate, shall we?" he suggested.

Cashmere squealed with delight.

The morning of Thanksmas, Cashmere leaped out of bed, standing at attention for the waiting valets, who lifted her sleeping chemise from her body and gently lowered a confection of a dress across her shoulders. Tulle, lace, silk, satin, and a frosting of shimmering carbuncles left her less a little girl than a snowcapped chalet. "Hair ribbons, hair ribbons!" she commanded, struggling to stand still. White ones were added, then silver. "More!" she cried, and another set of white bows was added to her wreath of curls. She stomped towards the stairs, where, in the early morning light, she could already see her beautiful parents poised by the door.

Her mother's staff, a retinue of nearly-identical pale-tressed women, would be waiting outside. Crinoline, the daughter of the most well-known family in town, had inherited its benevolent trust, and was unquestionably the greatest philanthropist District 1 had ever known. Their house was the constant site of receptions for rich Capital donors-red-faced, strangely dressed old men who pinched and prodded little Cashmere and made all sorts of silly jokes, but who her mother cautioned her to always obey and never disrespect. "You may need them someday," Crinoline had said.

Crinoline, Naff, and Cashmere walked out onto the frost-covered lawn. Cashmere thought to herself that it was the loveliest sight she'd ever seen: the rose bushes laced with silver, the sun like a hazy diamond struggling to emerge from gray clouds. It would snow a bit more today-it never seemed to stick, but the descending flakes captivated her.

The ladies of Crinoline's foundation were standing in a circle on the lawn, and as Cashmere and her family began to walk, they wordlessly filed into a straight line, following them to the Justice Building at the center of town. After a few minutes of walking past pearlescent mansions and stately silver-plated townhomes, the grit of the road began to crunch beneath Cashmere's satin flats, and she frowned disapprovingly. This was a less reputable part of town. She looked into the windows of dusty, sunbleached shacks and tried to think of the candlelight inside as cheery, but instead she simply felt afraid. Cashmere reached out and took her mother's hand. Crinoline looked back at her, expressionless. Cash would have appreciated a supportive squeeze.

Instead they stood at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the streetlight to change from red to green, as a procession of Undesirables trudged across the unpaved street. Undesirables, the small and segregated population of the unfortunate in the very-fortunate District 1, would never live in a beautiful mansion, nor would they go to the Justice Building for a Thanksmas gift. They had to go to the other side of town, where smoke belched into the sky on Thanksmas morning, blotting out the sun and leaving a stench in the air that no amount of scented candles could camouflage. Cashmere gripped her mother's hand more tightly.

The Justice Building loomed in front of them, the marble spotless, garlanded in evergreen branches and shining preserved fruit in every color. Balls of blown glass suspended from strands of crystal beads dangled from the archway over the front door, swaying gently in the breeze. Cashmere reached out to touch one, but her mother shot her a disapproving glance. "Don't play with the decorations," whispered Crinoline, and pulled Cashmere through the entrance.

Inside, beneath a raised stage, velvet seats had been arranged. Crinoline, Naff, and Cashmere took their places in the front, and the ladies of the foundation stood mutely against the back wall.

"Merry Thanksmas!" exclaimed the mayor of District 1, Atelier Swarovski. "Thank you for wishing for your greatest desires. You will find them here today. Enjoy them." With that, he bowed and gestured for his lovely wife, Chandelier, to hand out the gifts.

"Twinkle von Miu Miu!" Chandelier breathed, and a woman with feathery lavender locks ascended to the stage. Her eyes wet with incipient tears, she accepted a foil-wrapped package, and returned to her seat. This went on for rows and rows of citizens, until Cashmere felt that she'd absolutely burst if she had to take another second of it. She squirmed in her seat, knowing that to have a tantrum or insist upon a trip outside to dance out some of her anxiety would be to forfeit her place in this new, adult world. She visualized her puppy, all blond curls like hers, yipping and frantically attempting to lick her face. It had a pink ribbon around its neck. Its nails were painted a fashionable pale pink. Feeling more calm, Cashmere settled back into her seat.

When Chandelier finally pronounced her father's name, it almost hit Cashmere as a surprise. Strong and tall, his posture perfect, Naff mounted the stage. He took his foil-wrapped gift from Chandelier's hands and looked out at the audience, beaming. Crinoline smiled faintly in the chair next to Cashmere, and prepared to ascend the stage herself. Her steps were cautious, and with her slippers beneath the hem of her long gown, it was as if she was gliding rather than walking. Her gift was tiny and topped with a small pink bow, not unlike the one that Cashmere had envisioned on her new pet.

Finally, it was time. Crinoline filed back to her velvet seat, lowered herself into a sitting position, and nodded in Cashmere's direction as Chandelier read her full name. The words rang in the air. Cashmere was so happy as to be nearly delirious, but attempted to conduct herself with Crinoline's decorum. Her skirt was short, not even to her knees, but she walked as if gliding, and kept herself from smiling too widely. She stood in front of Chandelier, refusing to meet the older woman's eyes, as Chandelier bent to retrieve a larger-than-usual gift from a decorative platter to her right. The package wobbled in her arms, and a look of surprise briefly raced across her delicate features. "Oh!" she exclaimed. Under her breath, she added, "This is for you, my sweet," and held out the package to Cashmere. Cashmere took it, surprised at the weight, and the for-sure feeling of something living within, something trembling inside the packaging.

She sat down, itching to take a look at the contents of the box. Crinoline, sensing her daughter's impatience, whispered, "Not now" and shot Cashmere a warning look. The rest of the ceremony seemed to stretch on interminably, now that Cashmere registered the heat of an animal and its irregular movements inside the box.

As Mayor Swarovski made a few closing remarks, the richest residents of District 1 began to rise and file towards the door. "Oh mama," Cashmere breathed. "When can I open it? When?"

Crinoline grabbed her daughter's shoulder, with force this time.

"Are we going home?" Cashmere asked, confused, as she watched a line of well-dressed men and women begin walking to the east, towards the plume of smoke.

"We have one more stop, darling," Naff brayed. He heaved his gift onto his shoulder. It seemed to weigh quite a bit.

The family, flanked by their employees, walked in silence for a few minutes. The usually loquacious District 1 well-to-do were uncharacteristically silent. Meditative, even. Cashmere tensed, absolutely irritated. She wanted to part from the crowd, fling open the box, run into the distance-back towards home-with her new pet in tow. She hadn't even named him yet, and it had been at least thirty minutes. Even beneath the noise of shoes on gravel, she felt that she could hear the dog's (painted?) toenails clatter against the hard surface of the box, which was now beginning to weigh heavily in her arms. "How much longer, Papa?" she whined.

"Just a bit, my treasure," he sang.

"Please be quiet," Crinoline said, and her nails dug lightly into the girl's shoulder.

In the distance, a gleaming metal structure emerged. It had a flaring base that opened like a horn, and a tail pointed into the sky. The tail appeared to be belching smoke. A line of figures in rags huddled on a narrow staircase leading up towards the tail.

"Why are we here with the Undesirables," muttered Cashmere, angry now.

"Hush," Crinoline answered. "We always allow them to go first. The time we take between receiving our gifts and ascending the cornucopia allows us to find what we've received more valuable." She fingered her tiny gift, considering it. "Aren't you excited to open your present, my love?" she asked warmly, gesturing towards Cashmere's festively decorated present.

"Oh yes mama," Cashmere answered dutifully.

"Well then," Crinoline explained, "take this time to think about how you've always wanted what is in that box. Think about the ways in which it could change your life. How you would be a different person for having owned it. Concentrate on your desire for it and think about that." She waved towards the Undesirables filing towards the horn. Each carried something different: a cracked leather chest, a wrinkled package made of cloth, a wooden box.

"Did they get presents too, mama?" Cashmere asked her mother.

"They are poor, and so they have nothing to give but what they already own," Crinoline answered, her eyes not leaving the horn. "We should envy them, because they love their few possessions much more than we ever have cause to value ours."

"But what if they have nothing to give?"

"There's always something to give."

A young-looking woman, perhaps in her twenties, with dirt and soot caking her hair, was struggling up the staircase. At her feet, a child of two or three grabbed at her skirt. The woman bent down and lifted him to her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her neck. As the approached the horn, she delicately peeled his hands away, then lifted his body away from hers. He looked at her quizzically and then began to cry. It was just as Cashmere's irritation mounted that the Undesirable woman tossed the child lightly into the horn. Flames burst forth, then died down, then smoke.

"Mama," said Cashmere. Crinoline said nothing.

"Well, that was the last of them!" Naff said, and grinned. "Our turn now!"

Cashmere stared at him.

"Aren't you excited, my precious?"

Twinkle von Miu Miu began to ascend the stairs, armed with an uncharacteristic gravity. She held her package away from her body, gaze slightly downcast, as the crowd of wealthy District 1 residents regarded her. Finally, once she had reached the top of the staircase, she placed the package gently on the surface of the metal structure. She untied the ribbon holding the box together, and looking happily down into its depths, pulled out an exquisite gown that, even from a distance, shimmered, delicate and iridescent as the wings of a butterfly, in the early morning light. The crowd clapped. She tossed it into the horn.

In times of trouble, Cashmere's first response was normally to throw a tantrum. She considered this. Always talented at visualizing the solutions to her problems, she saw herself ripping the bow from the colorful box, her pet springing to attention, its ribbon fluttering. With one backward glance at her mother and father, she'd take to the streets, the puppy running at her heels, and they would go...where? Back to their home? Would they hide in the shacks with the Undesirables? Into the mountains surrounding their district, beyond which the Capitol surely stood? To break rank would instantly invite the attentions of these adults, and Cashmere found that she didn't want to disobey them. Her mother was watching her.

"You're so patient, my dove," purred Crinoline, favoring her daughter with a warm gaze. Cashmere blushed. "You're really grown up now," she continued, and touched the girl's arm fondly.

"Yes mama," murmured Cashmere. The box in her arms, for a moment, felt distant and foreign, but the living motion within called her back to the present. Why couldn't it just stop moving?

Listening to her own breath make oceanic sounds as it sent trails of vapor up into the frigid sky, Cashmere waited through the litany of names.

Naff strode to the stairs and ascended them with ease, even waving to the crowd, eliciting peals of grateful laughter. From his box, he pulled out a statue carved in jet black rock, a bust of a severe-looking man, head wreathed in laurels. Naff looked out at the crowd, teeth gleaming, with an expression that capably expressed both joy and surprise. With an athletic heave, he tossed the bust into the flames.

It was Crinoline's turn. Her husband didn't even glance at her as he made his way back down the staircase and stood next to Cashmere in the crowd. Tears stung her eyes, but she bit them back. She breathed in and out. She watched the steam trail up towards the cloudy sky.

Crinoline's lovely walk spoke to her breeding and education. She had never taken part in the academy herself, although several of its educators had tutored her at home in her girlhood. She was an excellent harpist, was said to have written lovely poems, and could sing in a high, clear, voice when occasions called for it. Cashmere loved her mother. She aspired to be as delicate. The package in Cashmere's arms listed dangerously to one side as the thing within rocketed from the left to the right. Why couldn't it stop moving? She tried not to listen for its animal sounds.

At the top of the metal structure, Crinoline was bending over her tiny package. She pulled out a trailing chain of gold, on which a locket hung. She flicked it open to inspect its contents. For a moment something dark and business-like creeped into her ethereal features, but was quickly replaced by a sanguine smile. She looked out over the crowd, her eyes connecting with no one in particular, and tossed the necklace into the horn, where it disappeared forever.

She descended the stairs and stood next to her husband. Naff chuckled and squeezed her hand. "What luck!" he chortled. "Who'd have thought they'd find your mother's necklace?"

"They find it. The same as every year," she answered. He chuckled once more, and pulled her to him, unresisting, for a light kiss.

"Well," Crinoline said, her eyes shifting to Cashmere. "It's your turn, my daughter."

Cashmere knew that she looked small and weak, but she willed herself to stand up as tall as possible, ignore the feathery feeling of her short skirt fluttering against her thighs, and pretend that she, too, was an elegant lady, so removed from her confusion as to be bored by all this pageantry. She felt the elite of District 1 part as she moved towards the stairs. The thing inside the package was nothing, not moving, just a void, she told herself. There was only darkness inside. That would be her gift. A beautiful vale of darkness. She felt her hands reach into the shadows, grip that warm and living flesh she had imagined so many times as she drifted off to sleep, feel the scraping of the (painted?) nails dragging across the cardboard at the bottom of the box. In glimpses, she saw a dewy black eye, a milky fang. She saw the soft sun lighting up the edge of a pink ribbon. She knew she would hate pink from now on, and white like the soft white fur that threatened to grab her full consciousness. One moment she was holding this live and moving thing, and the next it was gone. She looked up into the air. She breathed out. The smoke from her breath joined the dark clouds above. The smell would bore itself into the dress she wore, and she knew she'd beg the valets to burn it, burn it too. In the tub tonight she'd pour a full bottle of scent into the water, and then another, choke herself in bubbles, soak until her skin pruned and the steam threatened to suffocate her.

Lying in bed, the first thing on which she allowed herself to focus was her little brother, his blond head poking from the side of the doorframe. "Cash," he whispered. "Did you get your gift?"

"Yes," she said, surprised at the ease in her voice. "It was lovely."

Gloss didn't press. "I can't wait to get my gift next year," he said.

Cashmere sat up in bed, and Gloss walked toward her. Her bent over and rested his head on her knees. "I can't wait either," she said, and petted his hair. "You'll be so happy." He said nothing. "I love you," she added, and let her hand rest on his curls until, finally, he grew restless and wandered out the door.


End file.
